Zombies! Werewolves! Virgins! Birds!
by Bookjunk
Summary: The Beacon Hills High School annual Halloween trip turns into a struggle to survive. Derek/Stiles. Chapter 4: Stiles woke up and it was just immediately there. No moment of blissful ignorance, no nothing. Zombies, people dying and dead, stuck in a lab. Wham!
1. The thoughts that give me the creeps

**Zombies! Werewolves! Virgins! Birds!**

 **Chapter 1: The thoughts that give me the creeps**

'Zombies,' Stiles told a bored Scott, during the long bus drive to their field trip's special Halloween destination, 'are pretty much always the same. Sure, sometimes they're fast and sometimes they're slow. Sometimes they're ragey. Sometimes they're cognisant. Sometimes they're mindless, hungry machines. Never mind all that. Two things never change: they're dead; they eat human flesh. Those are the two things that make a zombie a zombie.'

'Scott, are you listening?' Stiles exclaimed. Taking note of the fact that his best friend was still gaping at the new girl instead of listening to Stiles' apocalyptic babbling, Stiles jabbed Scott in the ribs to get his attention.

'So, if we are actually going to a place where there are zombies, which we're not, because there's no such thing, but let's pretend for a second that zombies exist,' Stiles continued. He waited for Scott to nod. Scott dutifully did, though his heart was clearly not in it. Nevertheless, Stiles soldiered on.

'Here's what's going to happen. Someone, somewhere along the line, is going to make a mistake, because that's what people do. And then there will be zombies everywhere and we'll be dead or zombies!'

In short: they were all going to die. Horribly. Scott considered that for a while.

'Probably both,' he finally said.

'What?' Stiles stammered, confused.

'Because zombies are dead, right?' Scott pointed out, earning himself a glare from Stiles.

'Are you trying to be funny?'

'Sorry,' Scott said sheepishly, as if he was just now realising that Stiles was deadly serious. In front of them, Danny coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a disguised laugh. Why did no one get this? Either this was an elaborate hoax - in which case: haha, phew - or they were walking right into a zombie dinner party. Despite Scott's best efforts to hold him back, Stiles stood up and raised his voice.

'Am I the only one who has seen a little movie called Jurassic Park? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?'

Stiles' classmates didn't respond except to snicker at him. Jackson openly and loudly questioned his sanity. Remembering that he was in charge and supposed to maintain some form of order, Coach Finstock bellowed a command.

'Stilinski, take your medication and sit down!'

'Dude,' Scott whispered, urgently. Scowling, Stiles sat back down as dignified as was possible under the circumstances, which wasn't very.

'Never mind,' he huffed. 'Just remember that I warned you. Mark my words: this will not end well.'

(***)

An hour later, the coach announced that they were travelling the rest of the way by boat. If Stiles' calculations were correct, that meant that the boat trip would take them to Red Rock Island. He had suspected something like this. Where better to keep zombies than on an island? Anyway, Stiles knew – he'd looked it up – that Red Rock Island was privately owned by someone unknown, which was sinister. Well, at least the government wasn't involved. That was something. Government involvement was never good when it came to monsters. You only had to look at Buffy for proof of that.

Long before reaching the island they could see the facility. It was a huge square building without windows; surely soon to be the scene of multiple murders. Stiles sighed and wondered why he had been born with such a lively imagination. When they finally entered the facility, he got a shock.

'Oh my God!'

'You got that right,' Scott agreed, but he wasn't even facing the right way. Stiles tugged at his sleeve and inconspicuously nodded at the source of his amazement.

'It's Derek Hale,' Stiles hissed. He was almost hyperventilating; he was so excited.

'Who?' Scott muttered, glancing at Derek for barely a second before his gaze returned to whatever it was he had been looking at before.

'Derek Hale!' Stiles repeated. He was ready to blurt out everything he knew about Derek, but he knew that it would be pointless. Scott was beyond preoccupied; staring at something at the other side of the enormous room. Not hard to guess what.

'I'll let you get back to your pining,' Stiles said. Scott shook his head. Stiles was kind of taken aback by the fierceness of the gesture. Surprised, Stiles watched Scott tear his gaze away from his never-to-be girlfriend and fix it on Stiles.

'I'm not looking at Allison, Stiles. I'm looking at the zombies,' Scott explained, which wasn't funny at all. Why oh why did no one ever take Stiles seriously? It was exhausting.

'There are no zombies,' Stiles scoffed, until Scott pointed and Stiles saw them. 'Okay, there _are_ zombies. Let's go home now.'

The urge to get as far away as was humanly possible was strong, but Stiles managed to control himself. He even moved across the room to get a better look at them. They were obviously dead. There was nothing particularly gruesome about them, though. They weren't covered in blood or gaping wounds. Their flesh wasn't slouching off their bones. To be honest, there wasn't a whole lot that visibly differentiated them from the living. Yet, you couldn't look at them without immediately going, 'yeah, those are zombies.'

Cautiously inching closer to the glass that separated him from the undead, Stiles studied them. There was an air of neglect about them. They looked like they hadn't combed their hair for a couple of days or something. Ultimately, the knowledge of what they were and the subsequent fear was triggered by their eyes. More specifically, the lack of spark in them. It was the difference between person and corpse.

The others were also closely examining the zombies. Taking his eyes off of the shambling dead, Stiles registered the mood among his classmates. They weren't afraid or repulsed, like he was. Apart from Stiles, only Lydia seemed upset. She kept blinking as if she was failing to process the situation. Stiles knew the feeling. The rest, on the other hand, were joking, taking photos with their phones and tapping the glass to draw the zombies' attention. Like trying to get the sharks at Sea World to notice you, Stiles realised. If this doesn't go horribly wrong then I'm not a huge geek, he thought. Feeling sick to his stomach, he put a finger against the glass. Closing his eyes, he applied a little bit of pressure; all the while hoping and praying that the glass was suitably thick and sturdy and would hold.

'I'm sure it's safe,' Scott suddenly said, startling the shit out of Stiles.

'You are too trusting,' Stiles replied, turning away from the glass. We need to get out of here, he thought. But what could he do? They were on a field trip and almost everyone – barring Lydia and himself - seemed to be having a good time. Wait, that wasn't true. There was one other person who was not enjoying the entertainment on offer: Derek Hale. He was extremely tense.

Stiles watched him as he paced. It didn't do much for his anxiety levels, but he was happy to be able to focus on something else. Plus, Derek was pleasant to look at. Beautiful. Almost more a work of art than a person. A couple of times, Derek caught him looking and they locked eyes. It sent a tingle down Stiles' spine. The best thing about it was that Derek didn't seem to mind his staring. It wasn't exactly encouragement, but it wasn't discouragement either. To distract himself from the inevitable zombie escape that would result in all their deaths, Stiles decided to ask Derek out on a date.

To prepare, Stiles stopped by the bathroom. He checked his reflection and practised what he was going to say.

'Are you dating? I mean, are you dating anyone? Someone? Just in case it wasn't clear already, I'd like that person to be me. Ahem. I'd like for you to date me. I want to date you,' he rambled. God, he could just picture Derek's reaction. Maybe he'd listen politely at first, mildly interested in finding out why a complete stranger was talking to him, and then he'd most likely walk off in the middle of Stiles' pathetic spiel.

'You're gonna die alone,' Jackson remarked, giving Stiles his umpteenth mini heart attack of the day by appearing suddenly from a stall. Stiles tried to ignore him and his stupid smirk. Losing interest rapidly, Jackson washed his hands and left. Screw him, Stiles thought. Who cared if Derek said no? Okay, Stiles cared. But it wouldn't be the end of the world.

I mean, Stiles reasoned, Derek doesn't even live in Beacon Hills, so I'll probably never have to see the guy again. That meant zero future embarrassment. Therefore, it didn't matter if Derek turned out to be super straight. Or into men his own age or older. Or into cool people; something Stiles was definitely not. But, let's not forget, there was the slight possibility that Derek would say yes and that was totally worth it.

Thrumming with anticipation, Stiles came out of the bathroom and overheard a dumb comment made by Jackson.

'I wonder what they eat.'

It was way too perfect. Stiles couldn't pass up this golden opportunity to make Jackson look like the idiot he was. Before anyone else could say anything, Stiles sidled up to Jackson and answered.

'I hate to break it to you, Jackson, but Soylent Green is people.'

'Huh?'

'They eat people. They eat us,' Stiles smugly said, which was when the glass – a.k.a. the only thing between them and the zombies – broke.


	2. Coppertone

**Zombies! Werewolves! Virgins! Birds!**

 **Chapter 2: Coppertone**

 _Stiles' mood: not happy to be surrounded by zombies who crave his delicious, delicious brains. Also, aroused._

'Come with me if you want to live,' Derek shouted. Stiles swooned. Then he looked around and his libido winked out of existence. The zombies were climbing into the room through the broken glass. They seemed not to mind that they were slicing themselves up in the process. Everyone was screaming. The air smelled metallic. It all happened so quickly. Stiles felt like he was watching a movie with missing frames.

Derek, closely followed by Stiles, moved to the other end of the room, where the exit was located. The trouble was that an employee had let them in with a key card and that employee was currently being mauled by a zombie. Derek battered the door with his shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. Stiles was surprised that Derek was even trying. The door was made of solid steel.

'We need a key card,' Stiles said, raising his voice to be heard above the melee. He swivelled around and, trembling, placed his back against the door. Derek was already scanning the room for someone else in a white coat, but all personnel seemed to have vanished. Someone must have dropped one of those things, Stiles thought, fighting back the panic that was threatening to close off his throat. His eyes swept across the floor. They skittered over bodies and blood. Then…

'There!' Stiles yelled, pointing. Underneath a chewed up corpse, a laminated corner of a get-out-of-hell-free card lay glinting under the fluorescent light. Stiles surged forward to retrieve it, but was immediately pulled back.

'Stay here,' Derek ordered and disappeared. So, everything was going to be alright. Derek would get the key card and they would get out of here. Everything was going to be fine. Except, Stiles realised that he couldn't leave. Not without Scott. Breathing hard, he surveyed the room again. Dead people, dead people, zombies, more dead people. He forced himself to look at the faces of all of them, until, finally, he located Scott. Still alive.

'Scott! Over here!'

Wide eyed, Scott looked in his direction. Stiles waved like a possessed man. Scott - who was holding hands with Allison, Stiles now noticed - managed to reach him without much trouble. In a horrible way, it helped that some of the zombies had sat down to eat. Faces smeared with blood. Gnawing. Looking satisfied. The zombies weren't fast and there weren't that many of them, but they were efficient.

'I had a 'not without my daughter' moment for a second there, but you're here now, so we can go,' Stiles joked, but it came out all wrong probably because he wasn't joking and oh God, please, make it stop.

'Stiles? Go _where_?' Scott gently but insistently inquired. Stiles tried to explain, but words tumbled over one another and his voice was shaking. That was when Derek appeared with the key card. He didn't waste any time in slamming the card against the sensor. The sensor beeped and the door remained locked. Allison bit her lip. Derek ran the card over the sensor a couple of times, but nothing happened.

'Maybe a mechanism has been activated that seals the building to keep the zombies from escaping the facility,' Stiles speculated, thinking of Resident Evil. It wasn't a helpful theory. He knew that. In the distance, someone was sobbing.

'So, what, try another door?' Scott suggested, sounding near breaking point. Derek nodded. Quietly, staying close to the wall, they moved. Luckily, there were a few other doors. Lord knows where they led, but at least it would be away from here. Away, away, away. The key card did work on the next door they tried. They filed into the room. Every one of them, except Allison. She froze. Stiles thought it was fear that made her stop, but it wasn't only fear.

'It's Lydia,' she said softly. Stiles heard the words, but they made no impact. Allison might as well have said, 'It's Tuesday.' Stiles simply wasn't capable of taking anything in anymore. He felt drugged; separated from the outside world in a way that was simultaneously scary and pleasant. I think I'm in shock, he thought calmly.

'We should help her,' Scott said. Sure, Stiles thought, but he didn't move. Whatever was happening; it had nothing to do with him. None of it – the bright red tendrils creeping along the floor, the disgusting odour of meat having been left out for too long – had anything to do with him. Scott punched him in the arm. Startled, Stiles attempted to clear his head because Scott looked worried. Stiles suspected that Scott might have been talking to him for a while without getting a reaction.

Someone cried out. Slowly, Stiles turned his gaze towards the sound. Allison was right: it was Lydia. Jackson was shielding her from three zombies. His face was contorted with horror and he was obviously fighting a losing battle. Stiles was not feeling it. He wasn't feeling a lot of things. Oh, man, he realised; this is going to hit me so hard later.

'They're friends of yours?' Derek asked. Allison answered in the affirmative.

'I'll get them,' Derek decided and then he went and did just that.

You know I love you, right? Stiles thought, but – thank God – didn't say. It wasn't long before Derek was back with Jackson and Lydia in tow. Roughly, Derek shoved everyone into the other room and began to bar the door behind them.

'What are you doing?' Jackson requested. There was more than a touch of hysteria in his voice. He didn't look so good either. Sweat was pouring off him. His right sleeve was torn.

'What does it look like?' Derek replied, sliding a heavy-looking cabinet in front of the door.

'But—you can't _do_ that! What about the others?' Jackson protested.

What others? Stiles thought. How long had it been since the glass broke? Three minutes? Five? Ten? Was someone else still out there? Stiles couldn't find it in himself to care.

'They're on their own,' Derek said.


	3. I don't worry (as much as I should)

**Zombies! Werewolves! Virgins! Birds!**

 **Chapter 3: I don't worry (as much as I should)**

 _Stiles' mood: comfortably numb_

If Stiles had been feeling anything like himself, he would have been the first to object to leaving the others to die. As it was, he did nothing. That was quickly becoming something of a habit. He wasn't the only one, though. Allison was too busy consoling Lydia to protest and Scott appeared to be momentarily paralysed. It was Jackson, of all people, who picked up the moral slack.

'What is wrong with you?' he hissed at Derek. Okay, Stiles acknowledged, Derek was approaching the situation in a cold, methodical way that was - frankly - chilling, but maybe that was exactly what they needed. Jackson clearly didn't agree. Stiles watched him as he tried to push the cabinet out of the way, but it didn't move an inch. Veins were bulging on his forehead. It would have been funny if it hadn't been for all the killing.

Eventually, Scott got to his senses and tried to help Jackson, but even with the two of them they couldn't get the cabinet to move. Puzzled, Scott stopped to stare at Derek.

'Guys, there's no signal,' Allison suddenly announced.

'Same here,' Lydia piped up. She had dried her eyes and appeared to be returning to something resembling normal. Stiles checked his phone and discovered that he also couldn't call or be called.

'I doubt this place has cell phone reception,' Scott stated, holding up a pair of walkie-talkies as proof. Jackson snatched one of them out of his hands. Before he had a chance to press the push-to-talk button, Derek grabbed it from him.

'What the _hell_ is your problem?' Jackson gritted out. Since he seemed liable to start swinging at any moment and Derek seemed less inclined to answer the question than to simply snap him in half, Stiles spoke up to defuse the situation. It was better than laughing, which was what he really felt like doing. God, he was losing it.

'I think that what Derek is trying…'

'Do I know you?' Derek interjected.

'You should. I'm awesome,' Stiles quipped, withering slightly under Derek's stare. Not the time for jokes, Stiles told himself. Inappropriate, he chided himself.

'Uhm, no, you don't know me. But we're hillfolk too.'

' _Hillfolk_?' Derek repeated.

'We're from Beacon Hills. I'm the sheriff's son. Stiles,' Stiles explained.

'Stiles Stilinski?' Derek deduced, sounding incredulous. That was when Stiles noticed the others gaping at them. He felt like laughing again.

'We should probably discuss my hilarious name later,' Stiles proposed. 'When it's not the zombie apocalypse, you know? For now, I'll do a quick introduction. These kind people are Scott, Allison and Lydia. Oh, and that is Jackson. Everyone, this is Derek Hale. Clear? Okay, let me explain why Derek probably thinks using the walkie-talkies is a bad idea. We don't know who'll be listening on the other end.'

'So?' Jackson replied. He sounded suspicious. As if he wasn't sure whether he wanted to hear what Stiles had to say. Stiles wasn't sure he wanted to say it, but say it he did.

'Think about it. Like, what did the zombies eat before we got here? Maybe we shouldn't be so quick to trust these people,' Stiles pointed out, wearily. He exchanged a glance with Derek while his brain accepted the truth – the people in charge had to have been feeding the zombies human flesh.

(***)

They moved through the building. Some doors opened; some didn't. There could be a simple explanation for this. The key card might have belonged to a low level employee with limited access, but Stiles couldn't shake the eerie feeling that they were being guided deeper and deeper into the facility.

There were no windows, so there was no way to tell where they were going or where they were. There were also no handy evacuation maps. Apparently, in case of an emergency you are just supposed to die, Stiles thought and stifled a laugh.

He was cold. The temperature inside the building was low, but that didn't explain why he was chilled to the bone. They encountered no one as they passed through laboratories which seemed to have been abandoned with haste. Cups with lukewarm coffee sat on counters. Coats were draped across chairs as if their owners might come back at any moment. Vile things floated in yellowish, viscous liquid in thick glass jars. Something occurred to Stiles then. Had they somehow created zombies here?

'What is this place?' Lydia whispered. No one answered her. Stiles opened one of the few non-electronic doors, because he was that guy. The guy who randomly opened doors while clearly being stuck in the middle of a horror movie. It was a closet with a skeleton in it. A prop skeleton for Halloween. Naturally, Stiles only realised that after he'd shrieked and flailed and bumped into Jackson.

'It's plastic,' Allison said while Jackson shoved Stiles rudely away.

'You should really lay off the steroids,' Stiles bit at him.

'Stiles...,' Scott softly cautioned.

'What?' Stiles exclaimed. 'Look at him! And he's aggressive too. Sometimes one plus one equals steroids.'

'Go choke on a dick,' Jackson dismissively replied.

'Not yours then. It would be physically impossible to choke on something _that_ tiny,' Stiles retorted. Jackson, looking furious, made as if to attack him. Derek got in between them.

'No one touches Stiles,' he decreed; staring down Jackson.

'What are you looking at?' Jackson asked. Now, the way this was supposed to play out: Derek averts his eyes and mumbles 'nothing.' What _actually_ happened: Derek kept looking straight at Jackson, pointedly said 'nothing' and Jackson ended up averting his eyes. Scott, ever the peacemaker, intervened before too much testosterone got someone hurt.

'We're all a little emotional,' he said, placating. I'm not, Stiles thought, even though that wasn't true. He was extremely irritable. Disturbing images constantly flashed through his mind. He felt perpetually cold. And still the tang of wet rust clung to everything.

(***)

It was close to midnight. Stiles was tired and he guessed the others were too. They were not getting out today. Maybe never. Seriously, don't think stuff like that, he admonished himself, unsuccessfully. Derek, their de factor leader, decided that they would try to sleep. Effortlessly, he slid metal desks and massive laboratory equipment in front of the doors of another lab they were in.

'No one's gonna get in. Not without making a lot of noise,' he remarked when he was done. He was probably speaking to all of them, but Stiles felt like the much needed comfort was meant just for him. They settled on the floor; Derek on his own, Jackson with Lydia and Scott with Allison. Awkwardly, Stiles remained standing. Scott noticed.

'Stiles can lie with us, right, Allison?' he offered, generous to a fault.

'Of course,' she immediately agreed. Stiles declined.

'That's okay.'

Though they'd both sounded sincere, he had a feeling that they'd much rather spend the night sleeping in each other's arms than with a Stilinski wedged in between them. He shivered quietly and threw a quick, hopeful glance in Derek's direction.

'Come here,' Derek said, gruffly. Stiles looked around all 'Who? Me?' which was stupid since he was the only one left standing.

'Yeah, you,' Derek confirmed. 'I'm not going to ask again.'

Hesitantly, Stiles approached and sat down next to him at a respectable distance. Derek rolled his eyes, pulled him into the space between his legs - against his body - and slid his arms around Stiles. Stiles' heart might have stopped for a second there.

'How's this? Warm enough?' Derek inquired. Speechless, Stiles nodded. After a while, warmth and words returned to him.

'Why aren't you cold?' he asked then.

'Fast metabolism,' Derek replied. The others were gaping at them again.

'I don't know if I'll be able to sleep with the light on,' Allison confessed. Scott immediately began to scan the lab for light switches.

'I don't know if I'll be able to sleep with the light _off_ ,' Lydia countered. Jackson muttered something in her ear. Stiles closed his eyes and leaned back into Derek's body. Suddenly, the orangey light behind his eyelids vanished. When Stiles opened his eyes, he saw that the room had gone dark.

'Must be a power outage,' Scott suggested. Nobody seemed eager to speculate about the cause.

'At least no one will be able to get in tonight. Key cards won't work without electricity,' Derek explained.

'And we can't get out,' Jackson reminded him.

'We'll worry about that in the morning,' Derek said in a tone that brooked no argument. They fell silent. Stiles thought about wishing everyone good night, sleep tight, and don't let the zombies bite. He doubted the others would find that half as funny as he did, so he decided to keep his mouth shut.

(***)

He must have fallen asleep somehow. There's no waking up without sleeping, after all. It hadn't been pleasant, though.

'Are you sleeping?' Stiles whispered.

'Trying to,' Derek answered.

'Sorry.'

'Hey, are you alright?' Derek asked. He's a nice guy, Stiles thought. Nice and smoking hot and really strong. Deciding that hitting on Derek was as good a coping mechanism as any, Stiles half-turned. He couldn't see a thing, but Derek's body heat was all around him.

'I was wondering,' Stiles started. 'How firm are you on this whole no one touches Stiles policy? Is that, like, set in stone? 'Cause I would very much like for you to touch me.'

'Shh,' Derek murmured, wrapping his arms tighter around Stiles. 'Go to sleep. You're safe.'


	4. (Everything is) debatable

**Chapter 4: (Everything is) debatable**

 _Stiles' mood: making up for previously unfelt emotions_

Stiles woke up and it was just immediately _there_. No moment of blissful ignorance, no nothing. Zombies, people dying and dead, stuck in a lab. Wham! Tears threatened, so Stiles turned to the feeling of Derek's arms around him. Of Derek's warm chest under his cheek. Of the way Derek's strong hand loosely encircled his wrist. Stiles tried really hard to bask in all of it and it worked, but just barely. Carefully, Stiles extricated himself from Derek's embrace, but not without waking the man.

A stranger, Stiles reminded himself. He had to because Derek didn't feel like a guy he'd just met. Not even remotely. The lights flickered on at that moment. Stiles was thankful, but - always one to look a gift horse in the mouth – also suspicious. They go to sleep: the lights go out because of a power outage or whatever. They wake up: power's back on again. The timing was a little convenient, no? Stiles caught Derek's eye and noted that he didn't look entirely happy about the situation either.

'Thank you. For…' Stiles started, but found himself unable to finish. Letting me sleep in your arms? Keeping me warm and safe and sane? These were not appropriate things to say to a stranger.

'Don't mention it,' Derek gruffly replied.

'Alright,' Stiles said, taken aback. Derek looked up then and touched Stiles' arm. Heat radiated out from the point of contact, suffusing Stiles' body with warmth. I'm turning this into a thing it isn't, Stiles thought. But it felt so good and – dammit! - he was in need of something good. Derek gave him slight smile before letting go.

'That's not a threat, you know,' he joked. He rubbed his eyes, yawned and stretched. None of these things were important, of course, but they were very pleasing to watch. In addition to the two of them, the others were awakening too now. Probably partly due to the sudden bright light. Stiles observed the pale skin, the bags under their eyes, the bloodshot eyes. We all look kind of like zombies, he realised. That sent a shiver down his spine.

Scott, curiously retired to a corner of the lab, beckoned Stiles. They formed a huddle. It was weird. Like the smallest pre-game lacrosse huddle ever. Stiles didn't understand why they were huddling; he just automatically mimicked Scott's movements.

'So,' was all Scot said.

'Yeah,' Stiles replied.

'Unbelievable.'

'Totally.'

'Zombies. They're _real_.'

'Oh, that too, yeah. Derek being into me, though. Whoa!'

Scott stared at his friend in disbelief and shook his head, as if this was the wrong thing to focus on.

'Priorities, Stiles.'

'Okay. Alright. What's with the huddle?'

Scott shuffled even closer and lifted his sweater. Stiles was confused for a second before being horrified. There was a bite mark on Scott's stomach. It was recent, but didn't appear particularly fresh. And, not that Stiles was an expert or anything, but it looked human.

'What do we do now? How do we fix this? You know these things,' Scott whispered, quickly covering up the bite mark. Stiles shushed him. He knew that Jackson would probably want Scott shot, if he found out. For the umpteenth time since the beginning of this ill-conceived Halloween trip, Stiles fought back tears. Because there was no fixing this. No antidote. No cure. Becoming a zombie was like a becoming a vampire. You got bitten; you died. There was no cure for death.

He glanced up at Scott, whose eyes were wide with fear. Stiles decided that this was not the time to sugarcoat matters. That would be counterproductive. He took a deep breath and was just about to inform his best friend about his impending death – he managed to get as far as 'Scott, I'm afraid…' - when Derek barged in. Before Scott could object, Derek had tugged up the sweater and was inspecting the wound. Okay, Stiles thought, there's no way he could have overheard us from over there.

'It'll heal. Don't worry. You'll be fine,' Derek pronounced. He looked grim.

'I'm not infected?' Scott insisted, relief written all over his face.

'It's not a zombie bite, so no. You'll live.'

'That's not the same thing!' Stiles protested. 'You'll be fine. You'll live. That's not…'

He broke off when Derek shot him a warning glance. Not a zombie bite? What did that even mean? And how the hell did Derek know it was not a zombie bite?

'What's up?' Jackson asked, reminding Stiles that he should really lower his voice when talking about stuff that could get Scott killed.

'Nothing,' Derek barked. 'We should get out of here.'

'Why?' Jackson demanded.

'Because something came in while we were sleeping.'

A brief terror-filled silence descended on the room. Lydia broke it.

'Something?' she muttered. 'Zombies? No… Something other than zombies.'

She was quick. Terrified and still her brain was whirring, connecting, forming conclusions. She shook her head slowly, but not because she didn't believe Derek. She was processing, adding up, subtracting. Making the math work.

'You said no one would be able to get in,' she said, addressing Derek. There was an undeniable accusatory tone to her voice.

'I was wrong.'

'How do you know? What happened?' Allison inquired.

'I just do. We should get moving right now. We're sitting ducks.'

None of them appeared thrilled at the idea of venturing out into the facility again, so none of them moved. Derek sighed.

'We're not safe here. The doors were blocked. You all saw me do it. No one could have gotten in without pushing a lot of heavy equipment out of the way and making a lot of noise in the process. Yet, something did. Something came in here and none of us noticed. The power was out, which means the doors weren't supposed to work. Yet, they did. Whatever's after us is smart. It's strong. It's quiet. It controls the power. It might even be watching us.'

It was quite the speech. It was the most Derek had spoken since they'd met and basically he had said nothing. Nothing new, anyway. As much as Stiles appreciated Derek keeping Scott's secret, he still would have liked some answers. He was a fan of answers.

'Something is playing with us,' Scott said.

'Yes,' Derek breathed. So, they did what no one wanted to do. They moved the desks and laboratory equipment aside. Allison squeezed Scott's hand. Lydia kissed Jackson. Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles. They opened the door. They went forth. Into the unknown.


End file.
